


The Cooper Method: Cultural physics and zero-point energy generation in the Pegasus Galaxy

by ashardea



Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blurring the Boundaries of Art and Science, Bullying, Character Development, Character Study, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 04:46:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashardea/pseuds/ashardea
Summary: What if Sheldon joined the Atlantis expedition after Leonard ruined his experiment in the North Pole?





	The Cooper Method: Cultural physics and zero-point energy generation in the Pegasus Galaxy

**The Cooper Method: Cultural physics and zero-point energy generation in the Pegasus Galaxy**  
Prof. Sheldon Cooper  
_Atlantis Institute for the Study of Science and Culture_

  


**About the author**  
Prof. Sheldon Cooper is a founder of the field of cultural physics, a dear friend, a valued colleague, a respected peer of those he served with in Atlantis, and remains a vital member of the Stargate Program since its declassification. He thanks this journal for the opportunity to present this work in a prose-based form in order to illustrate and situate a process of innovative scientific inquiry. 

**Act 1, Scene 1**  
They contacted him on a Thursday, which is to say they were either very lucky or had done their research. The interview went something like this.

A woman pulled a small cube from her bag. She passed it to Sheldon, who, after a moment, wiped his hand on his leg. He reached for the object, careful to avoid touching her hand. Golden light sparked from the cube’s center. It collapsed into shimmering putty for a moment, and then reformed as a lotus. The golden light took on a pink hue. It pulsed like a heart beat. “Fascinating,” Sheldon said. 

The woman, Major Carter, according to the introductions Sheldon barely considered, smiled. “How’d you like a job?”

“I already have a perfectly satisfactory job. Well,” Sheldon paused, “satisfactory within the bounds of what can reasonably be expected at my career stage, given my recent polar debacle.”

The man, Major Davis, pushed a sheaf of papers across the desk. “Sign these and we’ll tell you why working with us would be more than just satisfactory.”

Sheldon paged through the stack without apparent interest. “Surely you’re aware of the reasons I’ve not accepted government-based employment in the past.” He looked up. “Does Traverse City ring a bell?

“We know all about that,” Carter said, “but frankly, we need you. You are,” she paused, “uniquely suited to this job. We have need of your specific strengths.”

“Of course,” Sheldon said.

Carter sighed.

“If you sign,” Davis interjected, “you’ll have a legal obligation to keep this to yourself.”

“A legal obligation,” Sheldon said. “That is entirely sensible. If only the other recruiters presented it in those terms. Precision in language and consequence benefits all.” He signed, initialed, and dated the pages as appropriate, then steepled his hands over them and said, “Enlighten me.”

The officers narrated the history and goals of the Stargate Program, described the existence and mechanics of the ancient gene, and explained their urgent need for another scientist to join the Atlantis mission, as one of their science team members backed out at the last minute. 

“That’s all well and good," Sheldon said. "But I have a few questions.” Six hours later, he processed his final paperwork. “You had me at interplanatery travel,” he said, as he initialed the last document. “But I had to be sure.”

“You might have mentioned that five hours ago, Dr. Cooper,” Carter said. “We could have continued the conversation after a lunch break.”

Davis collected the papers, arranged them in a folder, and then slid the packet into a code-locked briefcase.

“One must promptly collect as much data as possible,” Sheldon said.

“Collecting the right data, in the correct amount, at the proper time, is a better use of resources” Carter replied. “And that’s not even getting in to the issue of ethics.”

“Hmm,” Sheldon paused. “Perhaps quality first, and quantity later if need be? And what’s this about ethics?”

“McKay’s going to love you,” Carter said, under her breath. “Just try not to– ” she said, at conversational volume. “Never mind that. As we said, you’ll need to leave Pasadena in three days in order to get to Colorado Springs in time to join the expedition. We’ll send a car to your apartment on Sunday morning.”

  


“That was worse than my dissertation defense,” Carter said, after Sheldon departed.

“Stasi interrogators have nothing on that man,” Davis said. “If his ancient gene wasn’t the third strongest we’ve measured to date–”

“It is what it is,” Carter said. “Mission first. No one expected Kavanagh to quit. Cooper was next on the list. And to have him be a strong carrier, well, it’s better than we’d hoped for the replacement.”

“If he’d not activated the cube so profoundly, I’d never sign off on him,” Davis said.

“It’s a gauntlet,” Carter said. “Gate travel, I mean. It’ll make him or break him. I’d rather not risk it in other circumstances, but we need him now. Right person, right place, right time.”

**Interlude 1**  
Sheldon entered the lobby, centered his messenger bag on his back, and paused at the threshold. “Anything goes Thursday,” he thought, “goes right to the stars!”

**Act 1, Scene 2**  
On Thursday night, Sheldon told his family and friends he was traveling to an undisclosable military base for an indeterminate period of time and would be entirely out of contact. They filled in the blanks with their own supposition. His mother tutted nervously, Missy and George, bless their hearts, didn’t seem to have much opinion beyond bragging rights at the bar, and Meemaw told him she’d be praying for him. Howard, Leonard, and Raj teased him mercilessly, but Penny just smiled and patted his hand, once.

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, sweetie,” she said, when he fumbled through an explanation. 

“I find,” he said, “rather unexpectedly,” he looked up from packing a box of comic books, “that it is necessary for you to comprehend the logical basis for my choices.”

Penny crouched to the floor, folded herself into the corner, and pulled her knees to her chest. “Start again.”

Sheldon braced himself for further verbal incursion, but when she kept silent, just looking at him, he took a deep breath and placed Green Lantern #87 carefully on top of the box of Batman comics to his right.

He mirrored her posture, folding up like a grasshopper. “You’ll forgive me if the words are slow in coming, Penny.” He looked at the floor. “In part, because of the needed secrecy.” He looked at her, sharp and keen. “Swear on the very foundation of our,” he swallowed, “friendship you won’t ask me for details.”

She rose from the corner, came within two feet of him, and sat down again. “Cross my heart.”

“You’re the only one with any honor. Even Raj tried to trick me into letting something slip.”

“That’s how they show they don’t want you to go.”

“If this is how they treat allies, it’s amazing they’ve managed to keep even the barest of relationships on solid ground.”

“They care about you, Sheldon. And,” she paused, “they don’t have the emotional intelligence to show it without being silly. It’s like,” she grinned, “and just go with me on this. It’s like they’re nine year old boys trying to show off. Up to a point, things are fun for everyone. Beyond that, you know, it’s all cooties and mudpies.”

“Your analogy is flawed, but I appreciate the sentiment. And,” he frowned, “thank you for not calling me on my impressive ability to refocus the conversation away from difficult topics.”

“I’ve got all day, hon. Take as long as you need.”

They sat in silence for awhile. Penny shifted her legs underneath her body, and Sheldon sat, back ramrod straight and legs taught with tension.

“Several months ago, you told me someone as smart as me should be able to just get over the,” he paused, “insanity,” he finished in a rush. 

“That was a shitty thing for me to say to you. I’m sorry.” Her hand moved toward him, hovered for a moment over the boxes of comics, and fell back.

“No, you were right.” 

“Sheldon, no one expects you to be perfect.”

“I realized something needed to change. Obviously, the word ‘something’ is far too vague to be useful to you, but,” he smiled, small, bashful, “while some aspects of a fully actualized life may be beyond me, as I cannot even begin to hypothesize potential outcomes for this process without more data, this job presented the ideal opportunity. It’s unknown, a nearly numinous quandary. And that’s the hardest thing I can imagine. So, I accepted the post. And,” he looked to her, “if I could only tell you about it, Penny. Then, you’d know how serious I am about personal growth. A fully realized Homo novus must excel in all things, not just the intellectual sphere.”

“I’ll miss you, ” she said, seemingly apropos of nothing. 

“Don’t be silly. You have Leonard.”

“He’s not,” she paused, face scrunched. “You’re Sheldon. You’re you.”

“Your eloquence and talent for the obvious slays, madam.”

She laughed. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“I do not, which is unsurprising given your lack of verbal clarity.”

She smiled sadly. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

“I think,” he said, “this is the point in the conversation when it would behoove me to underline the value of our continued acquaintance.” He picked up Green Lantern #87, smoothed a hand over the cover, and held it out to her. “I want you to have this.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, “I can’t break up your collection.”

“Friendship is based within a paradigm of sharing and sacrifice for the good of the relationship, Penny. Please, take it with my compliments.”

She pushed up from the floor. “Stand up.”

“What?”

“That was, ah, how did you put it last week?” Her eyes unfocused for a moment. “Right! That was ‘a perfectly acute use of the English language, and even a Pan paniscus could have followed it without difficulty’.”

“I’m not the only one working on personal growth, it seems.”

“I have an ear for dialogue.”

He stood, comic in hand. “Don’t, as they say, sell yourself short. I do not make a habit of keeping intellectually inferior friends. While your level of education is far below my own, and even below Howard’s– ”

“Put the comic book down.”

He placed it on the bed, bracing himself for what was sure to come.

Penny launched herself into his arms, feet leaving the floor briefly as she met his greater height. He patted her back, arms folding like a praying mantis at first, until he forced himself to relax into the embrace. He circled her with his arms, held tight, and felt his mind go blank for the first time in recent memory. 

**Act 2, Scene 1**  
The expedition left Earth three days later, woke the Wraith, and then faced drowning as Atlantis’s power failed. Sheldon received no pre-departure training due to his last minute hiring, and had no experience outside his own lab, so he was of little use to those trying to salvage their circumstances. So, he grabbed some supplies, found a quiet spot, and spent much of his time reading and feeling the city. It felt like a puzzle piece slotted into his consciousness, something he never knew to miss, and felt the absence of only once he knew its presence. 

He read the briefing manual Major Carter gave him before he stepped through the gate while sitting in his quiet space, shadowed as it was by the deep oceanic water that formed itself around the city’s shields. 

There was something nebulous in the text, something in between the lines, but not explicit. Something. How brutally imprecise, next to useless as a thought, but he had nothing else to describe this feeling, so barring anything else he had to just sit with it until his thoughts coalesced into something resembling concrete sense. Ah, and here it is: the author did not identify the foundations of what they named Ancient Theoretical Physics, but instead treated Ancient knowledge and modern physical sciences, for lack of better phrasing, as if they existed in directly translatable relationship. But, how else to approach this? No ideas came to mind.

Perhaps it’s not a problem at all. Surely it’s just the sensory deprivation talking, and not a hole the size of Texas in the expedition’s scientific paradigm. Occam’s razor. So, he decided to first ask how string theory relates to zero point energy modules, and then improve the zero point energy technology. There’s a plan.

Sheldon spent several days like this, munching on ready meals and drinking bottled water, while taking time to rest, stretch his legs, and cleanse himself with sanitary wipes as necessary. He was only jolted out of his mindscape once, when the whole city shook and rose up and up and up. His ears popped. His eyes ached from the sudden sunlight that streamed in through the tall, cathedral style windows set in his hideaway’s walls. Perhaps he should go see what happened. But, no. He was on the edge of something, some understanding, just settling outside of his consciousness. The city pulsed lightly at his back, where it rested against the wall. It felt pink, perhaps rose, if colors had texture.

Some time later, several Marines entered the room.

“You Cooper?” The tall one said.

Sheldon nodded.

“McKay’s been asking for you. Come on. We’ll show you the way.” They wound through corridors, twisting and turning here and there until they came to a large room filled with people working at various unknown tasks. The tall Marine gestured to the door before continuing down the hall with his team.

**Act 2, Scene 2**  
“Cooper,” McKay shouted, as soon as Sheldon entered the lab, “go work on the ventilation system with Zelenka.”

“No,” Sheldon said.

“What do you mean no?” 

“Do you take me for an engineer?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I would’ve thought someone of your reputation wouldn’t need simple facts spelled out for him like a first month kindergartner. Very well,” Sheldon continued, “it’s a basic issue of logic and resource allocation. Given I have both the capability and interest in engaging with, and dare I say developing, the field of Ancient theoretical physics as it relates to zero point energy, my time would be best spent occupied in more cerebral activity.”

“You’re going to build on the theoretical knowledge of the gate builders,” McKay said. “Really.”

“I’m equipped with both superior intellect and ability, as I’m sure you realize from my previous work in string theory. It may interest you to know my preliminary analyses suggest some crossover between my current expertise and the topical reports I received before leaving Earth. Thus,” he finished with tight smile, “it would behoove you to stay out of my productivity matrix.”

“Are you serious?” He looked at Zelenka. “Is he serious? Is he for real?”

“Leave me out of this, Rodney.”

“Whatever.” He looked at Sheldon, eyes flint-sharp. “We’re in what amounts to a war zone, and you want to dedicate your time to revolutionizing Ancient theory? No. No, no no. You'll do what you're told. This is not a democracy. I don’t have time for employees who can’t play well with others."

Zelenka snorted.

McKay glanced at Zelenka. “You might want to get that post-nasal drip issue looked at before you develop some insidious, disgusting, and, let me emphasize, contagious condition.” He refocused on Sheldon. “I’m going to kill Carter for saddling me with you,” McKay said. “In her sleep, if she’s lucky. You make me miss Kavanagh.” He increased volume. “Everyone, take note. Zed PM recharging is first on my list,” he glared at Sheldon “ so I can send him as far away as possible.”

“Let me assure you–” 

“Don’t care,” McKay said. “You’re assigned to the tertiary lab. You want to do exploratory research? Then you can test and catalog Ancient artifacts as we find them.”

“But that’s– ”

“Yes.” McKay grinned, feral.

**Act 2, Scene 3**  
Sheldon seethed. His ire multiplied like tribbles. Homo novus, or Homo antiqua, perhaps, given the intellectual prowess of the Ancients, valued only for his ability to power up obscure technology. It chafed, but Sheldon played a long game. They’d rue the day. Rue. Lament. Bewail their misfortune.

Sheldon’s plan went something like this:  
1\. Play along and power up Ancient artifacts on command like a trained monkey  
2\. Discover something amazing in his off time  
3\. Bask in the knowledge of his superiority  
4\. Rub said superiority in the face of the Canadian  
5\. Get his own lab and never be bothered by Canadians ever again

If Penny had been there, she’d have called him some sixth grade level synonym of insufferable before gently teasing him out of it. His mother would have given him a significant look before going to call her church to pray for his immortal soul. “Hellfire and damnation, Shelly,” she’d say. “That’s what you’re toying with.” Meemaw would have maneuvered him to her position without him realizing he’d been moved. Even the guys would have knocked him off this path, by withholding Thai food at the very least. But, none of them were in Atlantis, and there was no curry to be found, green or otherwise. 

**Act 2, Scene 4**  
Zelenka entered the tertiary lab three weeks after what most of Atlantis was calling ‘the clash of the antisocial,’ like it had been the geek equivalent of a cage match. He paused for a moment in the doorway.

Sheldon had three whiteboards set up against the wall. Where he’d gotten them, Zelenka couldn’t imagine, but they were chock full of green words that looked like a cross between haiku and limericks. In the foreground was a table full of objects. Sheldon flitted back and forth between the two at random. He’d fire up an object with the use of his Ancient gene, type a note into the computer terminal, and then turn back to his whiteboard.

“What are you doing?” Zelenka asked, finally.

“Multi-tasking.”

“That, I can see,” he said, deciding to try another tack. “You write poetry?”

“Certainly not.” Sheldon turned to focus on Zelenka and placed a hand on the table. “An astute, if obvious, assessment, given the available stimuli. Points for effort,” he muttered, “if that had any relevance at all.” He fiddled with palm-sized sphere.

They stood in silence for a moment.

“Did you want something?” Sheldon asked. “I have innumerable things to get through today, most of them pointless. But, as I require daily sustenance, and my continued nutrition has been made contingent on ‘going with the program,’ I would prefer to get back to this,” he gestured expansively, “travesty of wasted potential.”

“Rodney threatened you with starvation?”

“More importantly, the kitchen staff backed him up. He claimed he would, I quote, ‘mess with their plumbing, and create an unholy swamp of shit.’ A motivating, if inhumane, argument.” Sheldon paled. “They are,” he clenched the ball, causing a spark of blue light to shoot out from the side, “rather beefy for support personnel.”

“The military, they have, ah,” Zelenka paused, “high standards for the physical.”

Sheldon sniffed. “And I repeat, did you want something? Or are you so bereft of productive activity that you’ve taken to social visits?”

“Rodney sent me to ask about your progress.”

Sheldon exhaled a D20 sigh of long-suffering. “Well, do let’s have a chat, then.” He held up the sphere. “Exhibit A: Very likely a children’s toy. Something to improve somatic cell development in toddlers, perhaps.” He placed it on the table and picked up a tablet. “Exhibit B: Damaged. Useless; probably since well before the Ancients left.” He tossed the tablet to the side and pointed a palm-sized pyramid. “Exhibit C: Equivalent to a Rubix cube, but easier to beat. Did that Canadian go trawling through a junk heap for these,” he gestured expansively, “delightful examples of Ancient technological history?” Sheldon’s face contorted into a Joker-like grin. “No matter, I simply do as asked. Analyze and catalog. Even a kitchen grunt could manage it.” He slapped it down and grabbed a small box.

“Ah, that’s enough for now,” Zelenka said. “I will tell Rodney your initial report will be ready by Monday afternoon, as requested.” He turned to leave, then shifted toward Sheldon once again. “I am sorry Atlantis has not lived up to your hopes.”

“Nothing of the sort. I had no expectations going in; it would have been the height of irrationality to claim any foreknowledge of what might be found here.” 

“But, this,” Zelenka waved at the room. “If you apologize, he might relent.”

“And make my situation even more untenable.” He laughed, a short bark of sound. “No,” Sheldon continued, “I will complete my busy work on time and to specifications, eat my meals and go to bed on schedule, and then start again, like the mindless drone Dr. McKay requested.” 

“And the poems?” Zelenka asked, as he approached the door.

“I told you I am not a poet.” 

“Therapy, then.”

“Likely not in the manner you’re thinking.”

**Interlude 2**  
Time passed in this manner: rinse, then repeat, a few months gone with nothing much to say for them beyond the baseline adequate feeling that comes from successful routination. 

Occasionally, it seemed, there was some sort of red alert, or at least a good deal of shouting and scurrying about by the collective red shirts and the Mc-Kahn himself, but nothing disturbed Sheldon’s rhythm. 

But the city still pulsed gently at his edges, though the rose color faded to champagne. Something itched at his periphery, a sense of a thing that cannot be verbalized: a spatial logic of an emerging picture. At first, Sheldon chased that feeling, trying to force it into knowing, into comprehension, into understanding, but each time he got close the whatever-it-was retreated. So, he sat back into his work, and let each new data point filter itself into a growing matrix of what he’d taken to calling the Science of the Ancients. So far, it seemed a non-linear, dare he say, Lovecraftian sort of approach to empiricism, minus the eldritch horrors. He hoped.

**Interlude 3**  
And, then came the mission. The Mission, Sheldon liked to call it, years later, emphasis obvious and pointed. 

**Act 3, Scene 1**  
Sheppard needed a scientist.

Beckett had quarantined McKay because of a virulent, pustule-forming disease he picked up on a gate trip. Zelenka's team had been retro-engineering the ZPM base for the past week, and, as he said, “are close, Major, very close to breakthrough.”

Sheppard might’ve asked Kusanagi, but the last time he tried that she blushed and stammered her way through the entire day, and it was a kind of awkward he’d prefer to never revisit. Thus, his visit to the kiddie pool.

“Cooper, you got a minute?”

“You may address me as Doctor Cooper, as I’ve told you on more than one occasion.” He glanced over his shoulder. “That’s understatement, Major. The opposite of hyperbole, but used for emphasis in much the same manner.” He turned to face Sheppard fully. “And, no, I don’t have a minute. I’m deeply immersed in work, as anyone with even the barest amount of observational skills could attest.”

“It’s life or death, Doctor Cooper.”

Sheldon sighed. “Well, if that’s all it is.” He capped his marker and put it down. “Proceed.”

“Alrighty then,” Sheppard said. “I’ve got a team stuck off world. They locked themselves in some old lab. Got time for that?”

“You want me to hot-wire an Ancient facility?”

“Pretty much. Sure it’s probably more,” he gestured, wiggling his fingers, “sciencey in practice.”

“It hardly seems like they face imminent death.” He turned back to his board. “And note that I held back from castigating your attempt to demolish the English language.” He smirked. “Almost.” Sheldon paused, hand hovering over his marker, and then turned back to Sheppard. “Let’s ignore, for a moment, the part where serving as a locksmith would be a very poor use of my time.” Sheldon crossed his arms over his chest. “The fact I’m not trained for fieldwork seems rather important.”

“This is a milk run,” Sheppard said. “In and out, and back for supper. And,” he continued, rubbing a hand over the back of his head, “the others are tied up. Come on, Cooper, everyone wants to go off-world. This is your chance.”

“I’m most certainly not everyone, Major Sheppard.”

Sheppard gazed off into the corner for a moment, and then back to Sheldon. “You’re a fan of Spider Man, right?”

“In theory. Certainly not in practice, if that’s where you’re going with that non-sequitur.” Sheldon huffed. “If that’s your meager, and I must point out the emphasis on that word, just in case you missed it,” he sniffed, “meager, I say again, attempt at motivation, it’s no wonder you can’t get anyone to come with you.”

Sheppard tensed his jaw, and grit his molars once, then again, before exhaling a deep breath. “I’ll take your on-and-off duty for a two days, no complaints.”

“Three and we have a deal.” 

“Done. Be ready in thirty.”

“Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Years, even? Really, Major. Specificity befits someone of your station. I don’t want to imagine the amount of trouble your grunts might get into without clear and precise direction.”

“I’m thirty seconds away from chucking you through a space gate, Cooper.” Sheppard approached the door. “Be ready in thirty minutes, in the gate room. Minimum gear, ‘cause you carry what you bring.”

**Act 3, Scene 2**  
Things went fine for the first hour. Sheldon got the team out within twenty minutes, really just a matter of jammed crystals, but complicated by their previous attempt to escape via a poorly placed explosive device. 

Most of the group gated back to Atlantis after Sheldon got distracted by one of the terminals. Sheppard instructed them to tell Dr. Weir he’d return, scientist in tow, within two hours.

The terminal looked like it might contain information for his current work on zero point energy theory, due to certain similarities between it and others he’d seen in the depths of Atlantis. All evidence thus far suggested the Ancients used structurally similar machines for theoretically analogous purposes. While the design features were down to nuance, sometimes only a matter of degrees of curvature, it looked promising.

But all too soon, it was time to leave. Sheppard granted him ten extra minutes when he asked. Sheldon took twelve, downloaded some promising material, and smiled at him.

“Thank you, Major. This could prove rather valuable.”

“Ah, sure Dr. Cooper, no problemo.” Sheppard said. A small grin pulled at his lips.

“Are you well? You look constipated. Do you eat enough greens? I can’t be expected to carry you back to Atlantis if you faint from malnutrition. That’s above and beyond what I agreed to for this excursion.”

“And he’s back.” Sheppard walked to the door. “Let’s head out.”

Three steps out the door, and a dart's whine sounded from about two clicks to the southwest. Sheppard ran for the nearby forest, while Sheldon gawked at the craft as it shot across the horizon.

“Cooper,” he shouted, “get your ass to cover if you don’t want to be Wraith food.”

“That,” Sheldon said, “is a hostile extra-terrestrial aircraft. Oh my Lord.” He looked to Sheppard at the tree line, and back to the craft as it soared toward a gate-local village. He tightened his pack on his back, and sprinted for the woods in a way he’d not managed since his short stint in elementary school.

They parsed their way through the forest toward the gate, ears alert and eyes aware for patrolling Wraith. Sheldon mimicked Sheppard's movements through the trees. They reached the edge of the gate clearing five and three quarter minutes later.

Three Wraith stood near the dial-home-device. 

“Can you shoot?” Sheppard asked, crouched by a tree. “Let me rephrase,” he said, when Sheldon opened his mouth to answer. “Can you hit a knot on the broadside of a barn?”

“I’m from Texas,” Sheldon said, hand out. “I can hit a bottle sitting next to Meemaw’s windchimes from forty paces. And that’s without incurring her vociferous wrath, which is more than my brother George can say.”

Sheppard closed his eyes for a moment, before glancing past the tree line toward the gate. “You want the M9 or the P90?” 

“I find the pistol is well suited to my palm-to-finger ratio.”

“M9 it is,” Sheppard said, passing it and an extra two clips. “Don’t shoot off your foot. Paperwork sucks.”

“Your concern just blows me over, Major.”

“You’ll do all right,” Sheppard said, slapping Sheldon on the back.

Sheldon swallowed, hard. “Just like paintball,” he whispered, “just like paintball.” With life sucking vampires. “Oh, Jesus and all his twelve disciples.”

“Ready?” Sheppard sighted a path to the DHD.

“Existentially speaking? Certainly not.” Sheldon placed a clip in each pocket and removed the safety.

“Thems the breaks.” Sheppard angled his body toward the clearing. “Aim for the mouth and shoot till the head’s severed. I’ll dial out and send the IDC when the hostiles get distracted. Run toward the gate as soon as I reach the DHD.”

“If you shoot the head, you kill the ghoul,” Sheldon muttered. “Jeffrey Lewis, you have taught me well.”

“Whatever works for you, buddy.” Sheppard sprinted toward the DHD.

“Shoot the head, kill the ghoul.” Sheldon took a deep breath, raised his arm, and entered the clearing. “Kill the ghoul, kill the ghoul.”

**Act 3, Scene 3**  
Later, Sheppard visited Sheldon in the infirmary. 

“Not the first time someone fell through a wormhole and face planted into the gate room floor,” he said, as he slouched into the bedside chair. “Won’t be the last.” He smiled. “Carson said it’s the first time anyone besides McKay insisted on overnight supervision for a broken nose, though.”

“Brain hemorrhage is nothing to toy with, Major.”

“As Rodney has said, at length, on more than one occasion.” He tapped a finger on the armrest. 

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“You’re not as stupid as you seem,” Sheldon said.

Sheppard barked a laugh. “No wonder you two fight like dogs.” He grinned. “Not sure I really want to know, but how’d you figure that?”

“Your tactical prowess, at the very least. And,” Sheldon looked away, “I’ve observed your occasional incursion into Prime not Prime, and wondered if,” he swallowed. “Well, suffice to say today’s excursion cleared everything up.”

“Hmm,” Sheppard mused. “Be that as it may,” he paused, “you did good. Took the head clean off old Jimmy, and slowed Stan and Bill down enough for us both to get through the gate safely. The Marines are impressed, Doc. That’s one hell of an accomplishment.”

Sheldon made a strangled eep sound. “I can’t imagine how any part of this farce of a day, beyond my newest data acquisition, could be considered any permutation of good.”

Sheppard nodded. He fell quiet for a moment. “You get a lot of shit from people.”

“Whatever gives you that idea?” Sheldon picked at a loose thread on the military-issue hospital blanket.

“Apparently I’m not as stupid as I seem.” 

“Touché, Major, touché.” Sheldon huffed a breath, and then scowled at the shot of pain through his face. “Fine, yes. Minus my personal analytical work, things here are somewhat unpleasant on a daily basis.”

“More understatement?”

Sheldon nodded.

“Let’s see what we can do about that.”

That evening, John Sheppard taped a memo on the tertiary lab door.

Attn: S. Cooper

Re: physical training

Tuesday, 06:00. My office. Dress for exercise.

**Interlude 4**  
MeeMaw taught Sheldon the ins and outs of courtesy. He just didn’t always see the need in the same way she did back then. “Shelly,” she said, ages ago and light-years away, “I reckon your edges keep me young, but most people need some finessing. You can't just do whatever comes to mind to get them to leave you be. Formal manners'll get you through most-all tough spots, darling boy. Or,” she’d paused, then, placed a hand on his head, and carded her fingers through his hair. “Sugar, let me tell you something it took me awhile to figure out myself. Good manners will at least change the question enough to make things work for you.”

It took Sheldon a good bit of distance through time and space to grasp the structure of her lessons, and to then place the content into a narrative whole, but lessons that take longer to learn root deeper. They spread, then sprout, and grow something entirely new. 

**Interlude 5**  
Dear Major Sheppard,

I regret to inform you I will be unable to participate in the physical training regimen you so kindly designed. I admit it would be to my benefit, however, my current work must take precedence. Dr. McKay has said as much on multiple occasions, and from the shouting, did not approve of my last outing.

Sincerely,

Dr. Sheldon Cooper

Some hours later, Sheldon received the following email:

Cooper – 

You’ve been seconded to the military. 

You’re off light-bright duty unless Sheppard sees fit to put you back on it. 

Enjoy the PT.

\- R. McKay

Sheldon fired back:

McKay – 

That’s not in my contract.

Dr. Sheldon Cooper

Moments passed, then:

How do you like your current level of sewage service?

\- RM

And, finally:

Dear Dr. McKay,

It was kind of you to clarify the parameters. 

I’ll make a note of this for my records, should anyone need evidence of your attention to detail re contracts in the future.

Sincerely,

Dr. Sheldon Cooper

**Act 3, Scene 4**  
Weeks passed like this: one session of cardio three times a week, strength training two days a week, morning and evening, as well as two off days interspersed, where Sheldon was expected to walk at a brisk pace for at least 20 minutes, twice per day. The rest of the time belonged to Sheldon, to apply to his theoretical work. 

Sheppard introduced martial arts training at the end of the first month, with Teyla’s assistance.

“Again, Doctor Cooper,” Teyla said, “and then again once more. Repetition creates the foundation for mastery.”

Sweat dripped down Sheldon’s face. He brushed an arm over his eyes, and then reset his stance. “Miss Emmagan, and pardon my language in advance, but you’ve had me on my ass more days out of the last week than not. I think you can call me Sheldon.

“It would be my pleasure. No more of this formality; let us be friends. Call me Teyla. Now, square your hips. Good. Lower your right shoulder just a little. Excellent.”

**Interlude 6**  
As Sheldon’s body strengthened, his reaction time improved, and his relationship with other expedition members went from avoidance to alliance and then friendship. His theoretical work developed in pace. The assumptions embedded within the briefing material provided by Major Carter highlighted the baseline problem. He’d dismissed this observation initially, even fought against it, but the evidence mounted. Eventually Occam’s razor tipped toward rejecting the theory outlined in the official paradigm. Developing new theory proved the only rational outcome. The writers, and by extension the expedition itself, asked the wrong questions because of a flawed framework of understanding. In other words, to borrow a concept from such luminaries as Carroll and Korzybski, the expedition’s scientific map did not reflect the territory.

The Earth-based disciplines that served as the philosophical basis for the Atlantis expedition drew their bounary lines in the theoretical sand, and that sand became impassible concrete in practice. Silos, in other parlance. What’s worse, when the physical science teams did acknowledge linguistics, anthropology and the like, they applied direct translations from Ancient sources to their own projects without questioning fundamentals. It all amounted to Earth-based bias, pure and simple. 

And, as if that weren’t bad enough, Sheldon had reproduced these very biases in his own thinking when he dismissed his initial thoughts about the expedition manual during his first days in Atlantis. He saw the gaps and felt the space, and then discounted this observation as the result of sensory deprivation. At the very least, he should have recorded it and returned to it later, under different conditions. But, no. He forgot the fundamental basis of good science: observe and question. This realization buffeted his thinking, and like water flowing down a hillside, eroded his prior assumptions. 

Champagne brightened and trickled to cherry blossom, which then bled to ruby. 

His first question, _how is string theory relevant to ZPM technology_ deconstructed. Now he asked _how, if at all, string theory might be relevant to ZPM technology._ And then, finally, he stepped back entirely and looked at the ZPMs themselves, the city of Atlantis, data from Atlantean cultures, and then data from the Earth cultures that arose immediately after the time in which the Ancients returned to Earth without their city, when they fled the Wraith. 

And then it was time to ask new questions entirely. These should be supported by his current understanding, not structured by it, and ought to be augmented by knowledge gained from other sources. For this, he had the encyclopedic reference database the mission brought with them from Earth, which covered state of the art literatures from Earth, as well as the compendium of analyses from the Stargate Program at the time of their departure, and the developing analyses from the Atlantis Expedition. Petabytes of information, all at his fingertips, and the opportunity to ask questions. What joy.

Bright corals flow into pink hues, and flicker up to burnt orange, and finally to flame, in all its myriad shifting, kaleidoscopic color.

He is a child again. Learning new things. Listening to his mother pray in the living room as he explores equations in the kitchen. His first forays into writing proofs. Rhythmic repetition and allegory. Poetry, perhaps.

And there lies a key. Let’s step into language, as this pathway suggests. Then, track back to the Proto-Indo-European; the closest non-Stargate linguists get to touching the Ancient language. What is the root of the word prayer? Earth scholars argued for _*prek._ To ask. But to ask whom? Perhaps a friend. And that root? Ah, _*pri._ From that foundation flows freedom and love. What does love create? That's too broad a question to answer now, let's center on creation instead, just for the moment.

And from creation, Sheldon thought about religion, the stories he heard while growing up, those that he rejected individually, but perhaps, en masse, might inspire.

Flame threaded throughout, the burning bush, the temple ritual, and on to the Holy Spirit.

Fire: The warmth of the hearth and home, the seat of sacrifice, a fueled flickering form  
Embedded within all of this is reciprocal flow  
Co-construction, in context  
The ZPM, in order to charge, needs structure, reciprocity, and context

And now, clarity. Fuel funds fire, fire funds relationship, and relationship reaches back toward fuel, ever hungry for further communication. And what structures functional relationship? Context and intent, supported by reciprocity. Therein lies the key to recharging zero point modules.

The city itself, from the moment the expedition arrived, tried to speak to the descendents, to share this truth, so that they could both continue on. Power, so critical. But, with no shared language, and few strong gene carriers, this proved nearly frutiless until one person questioned his premises, quieted his mind, and listened.

So we need to light the fire - and let us not draw the metaphor out too far, but as maps go, this offers a useful thought experiment – 

The spark is intent  
The hearth is context = city infrastructure + citizen; here, citizenship is indicated by the Ancient gene  
The fuel = the matter contained within the ZPM itself  
If this is true, then the citizen and the infrastructure must mutually support the ‘flame’

But what about reciprocity? How does that -

Aqua, turquoise, then incadencent, furious azure. Royal blue, a flash of white, and then nothing.

**Interlude 7**  
Sensation fluttered in and out, dragonfly wings winking in the sunlight.

Moments passed, seconds and eons and ages, awash in color-light-sound-feeling-experience-something. 

**Interlude 8**  
“The Zed PM’s recharging. What the actual… Zelenka, what did you do?”

“Nothing! I was eating sandwich, like you see.”

“Likely story.”

**Interlude 9**  
“Rodney, you’re at a ten and I need you at a five,” Weir said, over the radio. “Tone it down a bit and tell me what’s happening.

“This is impossible,” McKay said.

“Clearly not,” Weir said.

“Is impossible, like Rodney said,” Zelenka added.

“Again,” Weir said, “let’s look at the big picture. The ZPM is recharging, so it’s not impossible. You need to figure it out. Be pragmatic.”

**Interlude 10**  
Time passed quickly-slowly-now, and flashed blue-bright lights.

**Interlude 11**  
“Coop! Hey, man, wake up. Sheppard to medical. Cooper’s unresponsive. Slow pulse and breathing. Yeah, yeah, pupils are reactive. He’s not dead and I’d like to keep it that way. Get your ass here pronto with a stretcher.”

Rouge flows to blush, which bends to fleshy-lovely lilac, and then slips to muddy gray.

**Act 4, Scene 1**  
“He’s stable, but as yet still unresponsive.” Beckett said. “His brain activity is something like a what we’ve seen in yogis during meditation. It’s quite curious. You say you found him on his bed, with nothing odd lying about in the room?”

“Yeah. No clue how long he was there. Could be up to twenty-six hours. Zelenka saw him at breakfast yesterday around 06:45. Most everyone else who might notice his absence was off-world until ten hours ago, and then crashed right after their post-mission briefings and checkups.” Sheppard scrubbed a hand over his face, and then scraped it through his hair. “Cooper missed our weight training session today, so I went to look for him. No idea what he was up to in the last few days, what caused this, or really anything beyond the fact he wouldn’t wake up.”

Worry, that is what this means, this hoary shade, poking out out out and in in in. Sharp, and then smooth. It bloomed out from Sheppard and into Atlantis and back to Sheldon, and then flowed in as a soft periwinkle that cossetted around Sheppard’s edges.

“Beckett,” Sheppard said, “I think I’m experiencing synesthesia.”

“You're what now?”

“That’s what you call it when senses bleed together, right? Like when you taste sound? Or whatever. That’s not this. But I am feeling a mental representation of color. Like physically feeling. That’s probably not normal.”

“Get onto that bed at once, Major.” 

**Act 4, Scene 2**  
Awhile later, Sheldon awoke, sat bolt upright, and saw Carson Beckett in the corner checking a monitor.

“I have a hypothesis for how we can recharge the zero point module,” Sheldon said. “Wait, why am I in the clinic?”

Now, the usual questions from doctor to patient after unconsciousness: first, the date, our location, the expedition leader’s name, and three objects to remember and recite back later. Then, what was the last thing you remember, how are you feeling, and no, Dr. Cooper, you may not go check the ZPM right this moment, and yes, Dr. Cooper, the ZPM is at a full charge, it was quite strange actually, it started charging soon after the time you say you last remember being awake. Sure as such it’s a strange coincidence, but it’s not for me to pass judgment on the like when I’ve a patient needing care in the bed in front of me. What were those words, again?

“Lime, beta fish, and iron.”

“Good lad, that’s fine then. You’ll like to be happy for tea after all that. Just lie back for a wee bit longer while I send for a tray.”

“How am I supposed to rest when you two keep yapping,” Sheppard said, from a curtained bed in the adjacent room. “If you’re going to keep me jailed up, you damn well better let me get my beauty sleep.”

“More like a wee prince than a prisoner, the way you whine,” Beckett said.

“What cheek,” Sheppard said, “why I never.” He pulled back the curtain, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and observed Sheldon. “You’re looking spry. Must be all that rest you’ve gotten recently.” He stood, and then sauntered over to the chair beside Sheldon’s bed. “Any idea why I found you laid out like a corpse in your suite rather than waiting for me in the weight room like we’d planned?”

**Addendum**  
The Cooper Zero-Point Energy Generative Method as yet requires containment modules be directly linked into the Atlantis core, and needs the presence of at least two mindful, strong gene carriers in order for the technology to fully recharge without overtaxing resources. Emerging work in gene manipulation, engineering, and psychogeography looks to make this charging process portable, but trends suggest reliably achieving coherent gamma oscillations will continue to be a necessary part of the procedure. Further study into the role of reciprocity between the city and gene carriers, particularly in relationship to concepts embedded in the hypothetical Proto-Indo-European root, _*ghos-ti,_ is ongoing. Initial findings suggest a tentative correlation between carrier vagal tone and comparable indicators of the city's health. This suggests that while portable charging ports may be possible, there may be something special about the relationship between gene carriers and Atlantis that we have yet to explore.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a random fic I remembered and then dug up this afternoon. The file info says I started it in 2011 and wrote on it here and there until 2018...time flies. Some bits were just dialogue notes sketched for scenes, but it works well enough now with a little minor revision.
> 
> Sharing in case there's anyone else out there who enjoys trope-y gen crossover fic with an art/science mashup vibe...


End file.
